


fever dream high (in the quiet of the night)

by completist



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Haikyuu!! Manga Spoilers, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Timeskip, Van Gogh painting references, a bit of, for the prompt: ulan (rain)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24033301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/completist/pseuds/completist
Summary: They meet again under the sixteenth lamppost Tsukishima has passed by; Hinata has stepped out of the inconvenience store—hair disheveled, carrying bags of snacks in one hand, when their gazes meet. He stares, and stares, and stares at Tsukishima, standing on the other side of the street. And then finally,finally, he smiles.Time does not stop, the world does not cease turning in its axis, but sometimes—sometimes—the clouds part to reveal what was written along in the stars.
Relationships: Hinata Shouyou/Tsukishima Kei
Comments: 6
Kudos: 115
Collections: Sun and Moon Fics





	fever dream high (in the quiet of the night)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sulatngtala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sulatngtala/gifts).



> for Isa's prompt on twitter "tsukkihina + ulan (rain)" and of course, me being a sucker for sun/moon dynamics just had to write it. Again.
> 
> Unbeta'd but I hope you enjoy!

The sky outside is weeping—lightning and thunder chasing one another, and Tsukishima can't help but think of how it will feel against his skin. The harsh pounding of rain against his glasses, blurring his view, the cruel beating of the wind blowing his coat—forcing coldness to seep deeper, and into his very bones, until it freezes over the longing that has taken residence in his soul.

Slow, languid music accompanied by the tinkling of wineglass hitting another in a toast; the soft _clack, clacking_ of heels hitting the polished, tiled floor; and further inside—the deep, modulated conversations between men in three-piece suits, the slightly higher pitch of women talking and smiling at each other—all of them, each sound echoing in the usual silence of his workplace—they all drown out the sound of the thundering rain outside. Tsukishima stares again, beyond what the windows of the museum could offer, and thinks about what will happen if he steps outside and leave all of these behind; leave the paintings, the sculptures, the soft light illuminating the remnants of a genius centuries ago—even for just a single moment. 

For just a single moment, he would like to trade these sounds dampened by time and history, and step out into the rain where time seems to stand nothing against the downpour, where memories could flow away, down, down, _down_ the drains.

_"'till we meet again, Stingyshima."_

Tsukishima lets his gaze roam to the various paintings of Van Gogh lining the walls of the main exhibition hall. Beautiful. The ecstatic depiction of joy coming from a person who had dwelled with pain for most of his life. An optimism that to this day, still portrays the magnificence of this world.

 _Vase with Twelve Sunflowers._ Tsukishima smiles at it. And slowly, slowly departs the hall.

The joy of life, as illustrated by Van Gogh, is often juxtaposed by pain and loneliness of his lifetime. 

_Oh,_ to let a life dulled by sadness become a beacon of hope and beauty.

He grabs his coat and steps out of the museum. Here, outside, the rain ceases to a drizzle; light enough to blur the lights casted by the lampposts. Water splashes on his shoes at every step as he walks towards the grand stairs, the huge columns casting shadows at his path. He walks aimlessly, somewhere to the west of the museum; seeking nothing, but hoping to see something.

And _oh,_ there he is.

Their gazes meet again under the sixteenth lamppost he had passed by.

Tsukishima stares as he fumbles with the convenience store bags in his hand, a smile trying to break out of his lips—making it seem like a shy gesture. He shakes his head.

Lightning flashed, followed so closely by thunder. The only light and sound in the space between them.

He waits, right there on the other side of the street, under the sixteenth lamppost he had passed by. He waits, and stares. He stares just in case he doesn't get to see again. He stares because this is the first moment in a long, long time that seems to belong only to them. He waits, patiently. For what exactly... he doesn't know, does not care. What matters is the man across the street. That man, and his unruly hair and tanned skin, holding a bag of convenience store goods, the bright lights behind him doing nothing to dim his own.

And finally, _finally,_ those lips break into a smile Tsukishima has burned in his memory six years ago.

"Tsukishima."

And Tsukishima had once entertained the idea of the world stopping when they finally meet again. Only it doesn't. How foolish. How absurdly hopeful and stupidly conceited of him. But oh, how _fitting_. How fitting it all is: this moment, the sixteenth lamppost, and the convenience store he remembers to have only shopped at once. The world does not stop turning, the rain does not stop pouring, and yet... that smile—that _ridiculously_ bright smile is still directed at him.

Time does not stop, his thoughts did not skid to a halt, only it focuses on one man. It felt like the lightning from seconds ago blessed him in that single moment before it ran away ahead of the thunder. Feels like a lone sand in an hourglass have finally fallen exactly to its place. It feels right, to finally let himself bask in the warmth of that smile.

He sighs. And finds that he barely cares about the way the corners of his lips turn up into something akin to a smile. 

"Hinata."

Time does not stop, the world does not cease turning in its axis, but sometimes— _sometimes—_ the clouds part to reveal what was written in the stars.

Hinata shakes his head, rivulets of water flying away from his hair, the same hair that gets soaked again as he runs towards Tsukishima, looking left and right down the road before going for it. Tsukishima wonders if that is now his top speed.

"Hello to you too." Tsukishima greets, making an act of wiping away the water sprayed on his face by Hinata bouncing up and down in front of him.

And to Tsukishima's surprise, Hinata hugs him.

It's warm. The arms around him thicker than he remembers, the body clinging to him sturdier, stronger. He does not wrap his arms around Hinata in return. How could he, when Hinata has him wrapped in his own so tightly. Carefully, almost discreetly, he leans his head down and breathes in his scent. The smell of rain, that weird smell of convenience store, the faint smell of sweat, and oh _, there_ — the smell that he remembers to be Hinata's.

The next thing he knows Hinata is looking up at him, chin resting against his chest. And his breath hitches, the beating of his heart quickening at the sight of another of Hinata's smiles directed at him. "You didn't pick me up at the airport."

"I didn't know."

"You didn't message me apart from that one time making sure I arrived safely in Brazil."

A moment passes by. And another. And another. Tsukishima lets himself be lost in the pool of Hinata's eyes, rain pouring down and soaking them to the bone. The light from the lamppost illuminating the wonder and hurt painting Hinata's features. 

Tsukishima closes his eyes. "There was nothing left for me to say."

He feels Hinata pull him down by the lapels of his coat, bags of snacks tucked in the crook of his left arm. Tsukishima allows himself to be pulled closer, _closer_ still as the rain begins to earn strength again. The pounding in his ears are loud, insistent. He wonders if it's still the rain, or the fast beating of his heart.

With their foreheads pressed against each other, Tsukishima feels more than hears Hinata's breath stutter. Slowly, carefully, he lets his arms fall to his waist, giving Hinata the opportunity to pull away. "I'm sorry. I miss you."

Their lips met, with Hinata closing the couple of inches separating them. Their lips met, and Tsukishima wonders if this what being so close to a supernova feels like—extinguishing his encompassing loneliness, and leaving behind the familiarity and ecstatic joy of life; like a vase with twelve sunflowers, sitting by the windowsill basking in the warmth of the sun.

"Tell me," Hinata whispers, running his thumb along Tsukishima's cheekbones. "Tell me you still feel it."

A nod. A fervent nod. There's no point in running away now, no point in denying. And it wasn't like there was a point before aside from a petty, immature feeling of betrayal, and abandonment. He had always known Hinata was bigger than all of them, always known that he can't keep the sun to himself thinking he would not get burned.

A whisper; still scared, unsure. "I still do. Will you—" Tsukishima swallows, closing his eyes tightly against the raindrops falling from his wet hair into his eyes and cheeks; hiding the tears he knows Hinata has been tenderly wiping away— "I can't ask you to stay. I'm sorry, it's still so foolish."

Another kiss. And another. And another. Each one more fervent, more sure, even more _lasting_ than the last that Tsukishima couldn't help but dare to hope. Mentally berating himself for even thinking, for trying, once again, to keep the sun to himself.

All these years, and he still dares to dream that the sun will remain by his side. Unflinching, bright, loving, and standing proud as they walk towards the eclipse of their lives.

"Tsukki," Hinata says, and the name rolls from his tongue so well it was as if he never stopped saying it ever since. "I choose to stay with you. If you'll keep me. We'll make it work this time, we'll be better this time."

The moon cannot keep the sun in an eternal eclipse. That's selfish, conceited even. But at the face of such surrender, Tsukishima never had the strength to refuse.

They made love again that same night, beneath the warmth of the sheets. Hinata has grown even more beautiful, Tsukishima thinks, as he throws his head back, pleasure painting his features. Beautiful, beautiful, with the way he writhes beneath him, his grip on Tsukishima's hair tight, the hold he has on Tsukishima's arms unyielding; like he too, will never let go. The drag of his nail on his back, his cries reverberating in the otherwise silent room, the taste of his lips that spoke nothing but his pleasure and Tsukishima's name.

And finally, _finally,_ Hinata made him understand again. As he sleeps soundly cradled by Tsukishima's arms, long fingers carding through his locks, that the sun may set to give way to the night, but always, _always,_ it will return at the beginning of another day—brighter, stronger, even more brilliant than it was yesterday. It will return, and let the moon rest its weary heart.

**Author's Note:**

> hmu and let's be moots on [twitter](https://twitter.com/completist_) and [tumblr](http://queen---queer.tumblr.com/)! Kudos, comments, and/or _constructive_ criticisms are much appreciated

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [even the way I walked carried the sound of your laughter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24352183) by [completist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/completist/pseuds/completist)




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